


Mermaid,Nereid, Nymph

by Selkiessong



Series: Where the Red Poppies Bloom [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Jaimsa Smut Week, Sneak Peak, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkiessong/pseuds/Selkiessong
Summary: "It was certainly very pretty Sansa thought looking over the silky blue piece of nothing. It was lovely except that all of her slips were less revealing."This is part of a series but can be read as a stand alone.For the Jaimsa Smut Week 2018. Day One-clothing.





	Mermaid,Nereid, Nymph

**Author's Note:**

> There is a lot of beautiful Pre-Raphalite artwork that were the visual inspiration for this, particularly John Waterhouse's "Mermaid" if anyone wants to check it out.

   It was certainly very pretty Sansa thought looking over the silky blue piece of nothing. It was lovely except that all of her slips were less revealing.

   It had almost become a routine. Every month or so she would pull Allyria’s gift- “You’ll look like a nymph! Especially with your hair, you lucky girl,”- out from its hiding place, run her fingers over the cool weightlessness, hold it to the light, then regretfully hide it away again.   

   Tonight though, tonight Sansa thought she would be brave enough to actually put the thing on, a consequence of the disastrous evening the two of them had had. There were reasons the two of them kept to a small circle of family and friends, and all of them were directly corelated to the human race’s seemingly endless capacity for petty spite. It was in the pitying looks and not-quite whispered variations of how it was a pity that such a young and beautiful woman was tied to an older damaged husband.

   Which led her to where she had hidden the negligée. Hopefully if she got up the nerve to wear it, it would go a long way to repairing some of the damage that those vicious twits had inflicted.

   Dress, corselet, stockings. Hair, “Just leave it loose, Sansa,”. Slip, _not a slut, not a slut_ she chants silently as she pulls the airy length of nothing over her head. Jaime derived great satisfaction from her physical pleasure. _Not a slut, not a slut_. And then, because the fabric would probably lay better with nothing under it she took a deep breath and slid her knickers off

   “Sansa? Are you alright?” Of course, Jaime was concerned, she had taken more than twice as long as usual to change.

   “I’m coming!” _Not a slut, not a slut, not a slut._

   “Ohh,” it’s more of a long exhale than anything, and it’s enough to turn her nerves into anticipation.

  “You like it?” she smiles turning to show the non-existent back, looking over her shoulder and seeing Jaime’s eyes widen.

   Heart pounding, Sansa sat on the bed with the blue fabric following her every move like water.  “May I?” she asks, her fingers already on his collar.  This is what she loves; the trust, the act of giving, and Jaime is usually so focused on her pleasure that she doesn’t always have the opportunity to reciprocate.

   It’s arousing in a way she wouldn’t have the thought possible, the effect of her hands on her husband’s body and she slides over Jaime, wanting more, drawing the silk over her head, baring herself to his gaze.

   “Saansaa,” Jaime drags out her name out the same way she pulls silk thread between her fingers enjoying the sensation; and she thinks, maybe, she can try something she’s only heard about and after a bit of fumbling manages to sheathe herself on him with them sitting on each other.

   “Is this good?” she asks as she experimentally rolls her hips. She thinks it’s amazing, but maybe it’s different for the man.

  “Don’t stop,” Jaime gasps, threading their hands together, his left and her right; and, because they had learned the hard way that forgetting a missing hand meant someone receiving an inadvertent hit from a prominently boned forearm, laying his right arm across her hips giving her further friction. “God, Sansa. You’re perfect, you’re so gorgeous,” and she wonders if it’s wrong that this thrills her, that she, quiet little Sansa, can elicit such a reaction, that he trusts her enough to bare himself; and she swivels faster feeling a familiar tension between her legs, her breasts tingling, and reaches up with her left hand to the nape of Jaime’s neck threading her fingers though his hair, “Oh, oh, _oh_ ,” as she tugs lightly, leaving him shaking in and around her, and sending her after him.

   “My lovely wife,” he says between kisses when they both remember how to breath. “You feel like coming home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I have EVER written anything smutty, so helpful feedback is greatly appreciated.


End file.
